I like shiny things.
I like shiny things so much that there was a time in my life that when I was asked what my favorite color was, I’d say “Shiny”. (I’ve also said paisley, but that’s another story.) Truth be told, I also like trash—or at least things other people would consider trash. Shopping at thrift stores is an addictive dopamine inducing hobby for me. And not just the regular second hand stores, but what we like to call “The Bins”.
That’s the Goodwill where you dig through giant plastic tubs with garden gloves on. People wore masks here before it was pandemic cool. This is the place where you roll your shopping cart onto a scale and you pay by weight. My heart literally starts pounding in excitement when we walk in through the dirty sliding double doors and the wall of thrift store smell hits me —it’s the smell of a treasure hunt, and I’m a pirate before a cruise ship raid.
My heart literally starts pounding in excitement when the wall of thrift store smell hits me.
So all this to say, I’m basically a raccoon. I like shiny things and trash. Not just thrift store trash, but to be clear, also intellectual trash—those clickable stories on worst and best dressed and what is really going on with Megan Markle are always interesting to me…even though I’d like to pretend otherwise.
So all this to say, I’m basically a raccoon.
So, when I hold my iPhone, I’m a Mama Racoon with a portal to all things trashy and sparkly in my hand. This does not pair well with reading my Bible on my phone.
I’ve tried to convince myself of all the Bible-reading-on-the-phone-perks. The convenience! (I can read the Bible anywhere on my phone.) And ALL the versions are right there in my hand. (I can dig so deep! What does The ESV say?!) I can even read it in public and no one will know what I’m reading. (Not that I’m uncomfortable reading my Bible in public. Never. Well mostly never.)
But the truth is, I rarely pull out my phone to read the Bible. I read the news. (That’s what we like to call Buzzfeed these days.) I skim my texts, DMs and messages. I look for a new jacket on Mecari and Danskos on Ebay. I coast on Instagram and Facebook and then even check voicemail…ALL before I’ll ever open up the Bible. In fact, I will cruise through all of those Apps and then cruise them all again, never even remembering that I haven’t read my Bible today.
I know. It’s just about this time that you are going to say, Janel, that might not be a phone problem. It’s a me problem. A heart problem. But still, let’s be honest. The dopamine shiny phone in my hands is not helping.
And on those rare moments that I might be pulling up my Bible app, I’m attracted to those shiny twinkly notifications that my brain won’t slow down enough to get into the contemplative deep thinking mode. Now I don’t usually click on the notification, but I still see it. And that quick glance pops me out of any meditative place I was slowly headed to—“Oh thank you Facebook Marketplace. That dresser is still for sale. And he said he’d deliver! Hallelujah. I’m going to paint it ombre.”
Reading is thinking.
Cris Tovani
“Reading is thinking,” says that insightful literacy expert Cris Tovani. And I need to get to that reading and thinking place. That cognitive place in my Bible reading where I’m not just skimming over the verses, eyes wandering while I’m really thinking about when I can reasonably and guilt-free start looking at Instagram again or (even more commonly) what we’re having for dinner.
I know we’ve all heard the argument against these shiny electronic things. And I know what an inconvenience it is to lug around a real paper Bible along with all of the Legos at the bottom of your purse, the doll brush, ugly school art projects, half-finished Sunday School handouts and gluten free crackers…But here’s my most compelling reason to not read the Bible on the phone—
My kids don’t know what I’m doing when I’m on my phone.
Of course I can say, “Hey kiddos, Mommy is just reading the word of God over here.” Am I? And when I am done, am I going to pop onto Facebook? How will my kids know the difference?
The truth is, my kids have plenty of memories of me on my phone.
I want to build some memories of me reading my Bible. The blue and grey leather one that my new friend gave me when we were both so desperately lonely and becoming friends, both so hurting and thirsty for the Word. (Yes, we have matching Bibles, and let me tell you, it’s my new “best friends” necklace.)
Instead of binding scriptures to my wrist and forehead, Mommas, let’s bind them to our overpacked purses and our cluttered crumb scattered kitchen tables. Yes, it’s one more thing to lug into church (along with my son in holey sweatpants and a daughter who hates to get her hair brushed). One more thing to save from the spilled cereal milk tipping over for the second time this morning. But it’s this heavy memory that I want my kids’ souls to be anchored in. Let them remember that—The Word of God is so important to Mom, she carried it with her and it was all around our house, hopefully interrupting our life every day.
Please dear Lord, let my kiddos know that Mom loved the word of God. She read it, she started her day in it, pouring orange juice next to the daily Proverb and folding our underwear next to the Gospels.
I want to touch the pages and verses as I read over the years and in my daily moments. I want to write in my own hand in my Bible, with the handwriting that my kids will remember as uniquely their mom’s. Marking that scripture that I clutched on to for a year, like the soul raft it literally was. And hoping that my kids will see it, or ten years later—I will—and remember God’s unwavering faithfulness to this poor mama, even when my own faith was faltering.
There’s more history in a book than on a screen. And there is burgeoning research about the benefits of reading in a book. (Some research shows that the smaller the screen the more errors are made while you read.) The weight of the book, the feel of your fingers on thin whispering pages. A tactile sensory memory is created that does not so easily reside in the slick glare of a screen.
And what about reading the context? See a screen and you get a small rectangular window. Have a page and you can quickly skim and scan, flipping through passages and swimming through living water.
Sure there are small pocket leather bound Bibles. But my eyes can’t handle the insect worthy font anymore. (Thank God I’m getting that old and living that long.) So I’m taking this moment to shift my thinking. That Bible is not a heavy weight to lug around, but the anchor that will ground me and my family. This divinely inspired word. This collection of witnesses from the ages that is speaking to the faithful and the not yet found. Some of these authors, died for the truth the wrote down here. And people don’t die for what they know is a lie.
I know some of you Momma’s love reading off your phone or iPad. That’s fine. Don’t borrow any guilt here. We all have more than our fair share of the toxic kind. I’m talking about me and what I’ve observed for myself. More power to you if you find that it is working for you. But it’s not for me.
And we Christians—are people of the book, not people of the screen. Let’s be a people who are deep thinking, not quick scrolling.
We Christians—are people of the book, not people of the screen. Let’s be a people who are deep thinking, not quick scrolling.
